


Red Nail Polish

by Mara



Category: X-Men: The Movie
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you think about when your world is falling apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Nail Polish

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in response to a Challenge in a Can. I came up with the idea while sitting with my husband in a hospital emergency room waiting to hear about my father-in-law and watching my mother-in-law pace. So, even though they'll never read this, I dedicate this story to Sam and Tamar Fishman. Jean Grey/bitter/nail polish.

The nail polish was red. Fire engine red. It matched the dress she had chosen  
for the evening, the dress she'd chosen because Scott loved how it looked on  
her.

The damn nail polish was *so* red. So bright and cheerful. It was sickening.

Bright and cheerful. It matched the two chairs outside the combined lab/hospital  
room under the mansion. Why had she never noticed how incongruous those chairs  
were? Too bright against cool blue/silver walls. Too much like flames licking up  
against the walls.

She sat in one of the chairs, with a silent Ororo next to her, and waited for  
Hank to bring her news about Scott.

She sat and stared at her nail polish. It wasn't even chipped. It looked as  
fresh as it had when she'd put it on this afternoon.

That was unfair. It should be chipped, shredded like the dress it matched. How  
could she get through a fight without even chipping the goddamn polish?

How could her lover be lying in that room dying and she and her nail polish were  
unscathed?

It shouldn't be so bright. How could anything be bright when Scott was hurt?

She wanted to just dip her hands in acetone to get rid of it. Acetone or battery  
acid, because who cared what happened to her hands if Scott died? Nothing  
mattered if he died.

The red of her nails didn't look bright and cheerful anymore. It looked like  
blood, like Scott's blood as he lay on the ground in front of her. His blood  
pouring out because he'd refrained from using his powers for fear of hitting the  
other people in the restaurant.

She didn't usually wear nail polish, but it went so well with the dress, she'd  
gone to the trouble.

Scott came by the bedroom while she was putting it on, wrinkled his nose at the  
smell and then tried to tickle her. She'd kicked him out of the room so she  
could finish the nail polish.

Kicked him out of the room. Sent him away. Voluntarily given up time they could  
have spent together.

She begrudged every single second she'd spent putting the polish on and waiting  
for it to dry. Wasted time. Just like Scott's life would be wasted if he died.

She swallowed convulsively, almost choking at the thought. She tasted bitter  
bile, bitter to match her thoughts. Distantly, she felt Ororo's arm around her  
shoulder and the concern in her mind, but she kept staring at the nail polish.

The Professor came and tried to talk to her, but she just divided her time  
between looking at her hands and staring at the door. Waiting for Hank to come  
out. Resisting the urge to burst through the door and demand to help treat  
Scott.

She wanted to scratch herself with her nails, scratch until she broke through  
the numbness, scratch until she bled so she could be with Scott.

But she sat in the chair and waited. She waited with her bitter thoughts and her  
red nail polish.


End file.
